


Summer Holiday

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By HalethWhy do we need summaries anyway? It's such a PITA to think of something cute to put here. OK: It's summer in the Shire, and the hobbits are in bloom. LOL
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took, Other m/m
Kudos: 3
Collections: Least Expected





	Summer Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters and setting not mine, but saving my pennies in case whoever currently owns Pippin ever decides to sell.  
> Story Notes: Truckloads of thanks to Unbegrenzt and Trianne for the betas :-)

On a lovely, lazy warm day in late summer, splashing and laughing could be heard coming from a little cove off the Water; two hobbits were passing the hottest part of the day there. Uncharacteristically for hobbits, they were swimming, and quite enjoying themselves, until the elder pulled himself out of the water and crawled to a nearby tree, reclining against it in the afternoon sun. The leaves above him were darkest green, but this late in the day they provided no shade to his chosen resting place. Merry wished to dry off before dressing to finish their journey, and as he'd packed no towel, lying in the sun would have to do. He stretched his arms up, then shook his head, scattering tiny drops of water all around him, and relaxed again with his hands behind his head, enjoying the warmth of the sun and watching the small pool in front of him. It was still, too still. His eyes searched the cove, seeking out his cousin... there he was, resting his head and arms on a rock that rose out of the water near the far edge of the pool, his body mostly submerged, freckled shoulders just peeking above the water.

Pippin's sandy brown hair was plastered to his head, water-darkened curls forming little snakes down his cheeks and forehead, and he was looking at him intently, even staring. He was smiling slightly as his eyes moved slowly up Merry's body, finally resting on his face. He suddenly seemed to realize he was being watched in return, and with a little gasp he disappeared beneath the water, leaving only a splash and ripple on the surface. Merry laughed in surprise, but he felt strangely uncomfortable, not so much with being watched as with Pippin's unexpected, apparently embarrassed, reaction to having been caught looking at him. "Now I wonder what has got into that silly Took?" he thought, and stood up.

"Pippin!" he called out over the water. "It's getting late, time to be getting dressed and going on, if we want to be in time for supper." He found his own clothes and pulled them on while he waited for the young hobbit to swim to shore. Eventually Pippin dragged out of the water and collapsed on the grassy bank for a minute. Soon he glanced up at Merry, then dropped his eyes and jumped up to run to his own clothes. He dressed quickly, without bothering to dry off first. As he still refused to meet Merry's gaze, the older hobbit had a few minutes to study his companion unnoticed. Pippin was certainly growing up, more than halfway through his tweens now. He looked quite the young adult, even if he didn't always act it. "Almost never, actually," Merry murmured, a little smile on his face. He had himself come of age the year previous, and felt quite mature compared to his cousin; in spite of this, and maybe partially because of it, he was very fond of the lad. It was after all quite satisfying to be so looked up to, so clearly admired and often imitated, especially by Pippin, who was in his own right a very enjoyable and attractive companion... Shaking his head in mild surprise at his wayward mind, Merry distracted himself by gathering up their belongings.

Soon they had packed up their things and returned to the road. Pippin almost ran ahead, but Merry grabbed his hand and pulled him back to walk next to him. He didn't release the hand for several minutes, and when he did his companion had given up any attempt to run off, so they continued on towards Hobbiton and Bag End side by side, but in silence a little less comfortable than usual. Many times Merry stole glances at the younger hobbit, but never once did he catch Pippin looking at him. The lad had to be concentrating hard to appear so uninterested, or at least Merry thought so. Maybe hoped so, because the possibility that he really was uninterested didn't bear contemplating... Startled and now frightened by his line of thought for the second time in a span of minutes, Merry decided to concentrate instead on the scenery, and keep his eyes away from the hobbit at his side.

After some time they wandered into Hobbiton, and up The Hill, and reached the round green door of Frodo's hole. A cheerful Sam opened the door. He had stayed after the gardening and his other usual tasks at Bag End were done to help Frodo prepare a late supper for his guests. "Welcome Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin," he greeted them, and stood aside to usher them into the hall. "Mr. Frodo's in his study. You can go on back to him if you like, and I'll bring you something to wash the dust from your throats. Here, I'll bring your things around to your usual rooms." Good as his word, Sam relieved them of their packs as they entered, and followed them back into the hole.

* * *

Pippin had seemed unusually distant when he and Merry arrived at Bag End, but had thawed considerably over dinner and a few mugs of beer. Merry himself was apparently preoccupied with something, but gave no hints as to what. Sam wondered if the pair had quarreled on the long trip from Buckland. He was glad to see them finally speaking and laughing with each other by the time he brought out the cakes and pudding and tarts; he didn't know when he'd seen such a close pair of friends as those two; it just wouldn't be right for them to have a falling-out. "I'll tidy these up myself, Mr. Frodo, if you don't mind. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin have had a long day as it is, I dare say they'll be wanting to go to bed soon enough. Now you just sit and visit with them while you may," said Sam, getting up to clear the empty dishes.

He heard a soft, "thank you, Sam," behind him, and Sam imagined he could feel Frodo smiling warmly at his retreating back as he carried the plates to the kitchen.

As the three other hobbits lit their pipes and settled in by the fire, Sam started heating a kettle of water for washing dishes, then went back to turn down the beds and light candles, first in two guest rooms, then in Mr. Frodo's room. The night was warm and sounds of crickets and frogs drifted in through the open windows. A sudden notion took Sam as he plumped up the last pillow, and he hopped up onto the large bed. Frodo's bed. "That's Mr. Frodo to you, Samwise Gamgee," he chided himself, but didn't get up just yet. Instead he stretched out tentatively on the bed, resting his head on the newly fluffed pillow, and breathed in deep. It smelled like Frodo: sweet and mysterious at the same time, like blackberry tarts and wood smoke. Sam lay there musing for long minutes, until he realized with a start that the sound of conversation was no longer in the sitting room but moving along the hall towards him. He jumped off the bed just in time to see Merry and Frodo appear in the doorway, followed closely by Pippin, now in a much better mood than he'd been in a few hours previous.

"Hello there, Sam," said Frodo, "we're about to turn in now, are you all finished here?"

"Y- yes sir, Mr. Frodo. Begging your pardon, sir, I'll be getting on to the dishes now. I reckon I put the washing-up off long enough." Sam managed to get out, blushing slightly and he hoped unnoticeably. Mr. Merry was looking at him in quite an odd fashion, half smirking almost. "I wonder what he saw?" Sam thought, but hurried out of the room without meeting Merry's inquisitive and amused gaze. Perhaps it was better not to know. He padded towards the kitchen, a chorus of cheery "Goodnight, Sam"'s following him down the hall. He was vaguely aware of the three of them dispersing to the separate bedrooms behind him.

He filled the sink with hot water from the kettle, then refilled it and placed it back by the fire. The other hobbits had gone to bed quite early, and he suspected Mr. Frodo at least would be up a while later, reading. Sometimes he liked a cup of tea before going to sleep. Later, as Sam polished the last dish dry and put it in the cupboard, he wondered whatever had possessed him earlier, lying on Mr. Frodo's bed like that; it wasn't his place to be having thoughts like that. "Like what?" he asked himself, but didn't answer. Instead he added some tea leaves to the kettle, and placed it and three teacups on a tray, saying, "Maybe the others would like some too, Sam."

He stopped outside Frodo's door, balancing the tray on one hand, and lifted the other to knock, but stayed his hand when he heard noises from within the room. Mr. Frodo wasn't alone. Sam's hand fell slowly back to his side as he realized just what he was hearing, and then it rose to grasp the edge of the tray, his knuckles whitening slightly. As he was about to turn away, he felt a presence beside him, and looked up into Pippin's puzzled face.

Pippin's mouth opened, as though he were about to ask a question, but then both pairs of eyes turned towards the door, and they heard a muffled, but quite recognizable, "Muh-m-me- _Merry_!" in Frodo's voice - then silence. Suddenly the dimly lit hallway seemed even darker, and cold where before it had been comfortably warm. Sam, unable to look at the door anymore, faced Pippin again. The younger hobbit's mouth had dropped open, his face contorted as though he might cry, and Sam figured he probably wore the same shocked expression at that moment himself. Then Pippin turned without a word and ran quietly back to his room. Sam expected the door to slam shut, but Pippin apparently didn't want the others to know he'd been up, for the door made no sound as it closed. Then Sam walked slowly back to the kitchen, left the tray with teapot and cups on the table, not allowing his shoulders to shake until they were safely set down. Afterwards he let himself out of Bag End, and headed to Bagshot Row and his own bed, although he would not sleep that night.

* * *

Merry stroked Frodo's curls carelessly, as Frodo rested his lips against Merry's cheek and whispered into it. "Mmmm that was nice."

"Yes," replied Merry; somewhat absently, Frodo thought. He lifted himself up on one elbow, to look into the other hobbit's face.

"What are you thinking about, love?" he asked. The room was dark, but he could still see the other's slight grimace, and his quick, surreptitious glance at the door. He received no answer at first. Merry's face was thoughtful, and his dark eyes contemplated the curves of the ceiling before coming to rest on Frodo's face. Frodo brushed a barely damp curl off his forehead, then bent down and kissed the newly exposed skin gently.

"You love me, Frodo?" Merry's voice was quiet and warm and a little... worried?

"Of course! Yes, of course I do. I love you, Merry." Frodo kissed him briefly for emphasis. He was a little puzzled; it had been many years since his cousin had asked for such reassurance, if that was indeed what he wanted now. He brushed his lips against Merry's face again, this time more tentatively. A vague, unpleasant premonition suddenly filled him, and it was his turn to ask, "Do you love me?" He held his breath for a long moment, waiting for the answer, but when Merry finally spoke it was with another question of his own.

"Frodo-," Merry's voice was as quiet as a breath of air. Frodo heard him inhale, then begin again. "Why have you..." Long seconds ticked by, as Merry chewed his lip in thought. "Forgive me, but..."

"Yes?" Frodo lifted his hand, and rubbed Merry's bruised lip softly. "You know you can ask me anything, Merry. We have no secrets, do we?"

Another sharp intake of breath, and Merry blurted, "Why have you never taken Sam to your bed? I've seen the way you look at him, the way you talk about him - as though he were a gift of the Valar, sent straight to your door. I've noticed it for years. I think you love him, Frodo," he stated firmly; but then Frodo heard him swallow nervously, as if he were uncertain: of his conclusion, or of Frodo's reaction, Frodo couldn't tell. He didn't reply. After a moment Merry continued, "It seems you are closer to him than to me these days... well, longer than that. For years, maybe almost since you left Buckland to live here. I can't see why you chose me to begin with, when he's here."

After a tense pause, Frodo said, "Merry... he is the gardener." It was all he could think of to say immediately, and he regretted it immediately. It didn't explain how he felt about Sam: that he was the most admirable of hobbits, solid and strong and open and giving and simple though far from shallow. It didn't have anything to do with why he couldn't...

Merry interrupted his thoughts, before he could compose them any more effectively. "So? You wouldn't have had him staying to dinner with us, if you thought of him as no more than your servant. I know he takes meals with you at other times - daily, I suspect. He seems more like family to you than I do."

"You don't understand. He doesn't deserve me." Merry snorted, and Frodo rushed to rephrase his statement, inwardly cursing his fumbling tongue. "I mean, I don't deserve _him_ , he can do better than me."

"Oh, and I can't?" Merry chuckled when he said it, no perceptible resentment in his voice, but Frodo tightened his arms around him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he murmured. "I just... I don't want him to feel obligated, because of his position. I've never felt that way with you - but Sam! He's so generous... I fear he might... do things he didn't wish, out of loyalty."

"Loyalty? No, dear cousin, there's more going on here than that. There's love in the care he takes of you; can you not see it? Have you never caught the glances he gives you, was giving you just today over dinner, when he thought no-one was looking at him? Although he doesn't seem as keen to avoid detection as you are; he must want you to know..."

Frodo cut him off curtly. "It's not a secret. Not to him, not to me. We've just never... spoken of it, just accepted it can't be. As you should." Frodo breathed out noisily, frustrated, then rushed out his excuses: "He can't really love me. He's infatuated. He will grow out of it... he deserves better, a nice lass who will take care of him and give him children. I'm... I'm practically a shut-in, closeted here with my books. He needs air and sunshine and earth! Eventually he will realize that; he will want to marry, and I won't have him tied to me beyond his desire... but I should not want to let him go once, once... well, better to leave him as he is." There was an almost angry sounding sigh from beside him.

"Do you think I will never marry, then?" Frodo heard the rest, though it was unspoken: "...or don't you care?" He did care, although the thought of Merry finding someone to wed did not twist as painfully in his heart as the thought of Sam doing the same did. Still, without Merry, he would be alone, and that was a hard enough notion to contemplate.

"I... I don't know. Will you?"

"It's all well and good for you, to remain a bachelor the rest of your days. You can leave Bag End to whomever you like; no-one but Lobelia will care." Merry's tone was a little bitter to Frodo's ears. "I need an heir... and Pippin..." The last word was whispered so softly Frodo thought he could not have been intended to hear it, and now he began to think he knew what was worrying at Merry's mind.

"So, what about Pippin, then?" he pried, his voice as gentle as he could make it.

"Ahhh... what about him?" Merry had stiffened noticeably.

"As much time as I spend with Sam, I think you are with Pippin even more. He _is_ your best friend, isn't he? Perhaps you are trying to leave me for him?" Frodo's tone was light, although it was an effort to hide his anxiety. Once again Merry was speechless. "Merry? Is it true?"

"No." Now Merry's voice was louder, harsher. "He is so young... too young. I've never thought of him... like I have of you." He sounded uncertain, and a little desperate to be believed.

"No younger than you were."

"That was different! This is Pippin, how could I? How could I risk hurting him?"

Frodo was suddenly holding back tears. He'd made an immense mistake in loving his cousin; caused some irreparable damage he was certain. Poor Merry... "Have I hurt you?"

"No, no, of course not." Merry kissed him softly. "Please Frodo, I still love you, my dear, don't cry, please don't cry," he begged, drawing his older cousin close, but Frodo abruptly realized, even as apparently Merry did not, that Merry had only been biding his time with him, waiting for Pippin to grow old enough...

"This is the last time, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry." Genuine regret filled Merry's voice. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again. "I need... well, I need to think of what to do about Pippin. And I just can't do it here, not in your bed. I'm sorry," he repeated, unmistakably pleading now. "Please... why don't you ask Sam?"

"I can't, Merry, I can't. He'll leave. Everyone important in my life leaves, everyone I've ever loved," he mumbled, not even aware that he'd spoken out loud, then he curled into his former lover and wept softly while Merry placed gentle kisses on his brow. "I don't think I could bear it, if I lost someone else," he snuffled into Merry's shoulder, while Merry held him close and whispered words of comfort into his hair. After some time, he fell asleep, and didn't wake when Merry disentangled himself and returned to the guest room across the hall.

* * *

Pippin rose at dawn, then dressed and packed quickly. He pulled the door to his room shut with care so as not to make a sound, and padded furtively down the hall. After a few steps, he came to a halt outside the room he'd expected Merry to spend the night in. He stood there for several long moments, trying not to breath loud enough to be heard, listening for any sign the room was occupied, then he reached out a tentative hand for the doorknob and turned it slowly. The door did not creak when it opened. Pippin was a little surprised at this: the doors at Great Smials were very hard to open silently, as he knew from long experience sneaking around the huge warren of holes in the Tookland. Come to think of it, the doors in Brandy Hall were no more cooperative. Frodo - no, not Frodo, for he certainly didn't pay much mind to such domestic niceties - it was Sam who must take very good care of Bag End, hinges and all.

At last, Pippin summoned the will to peek in the door, and found his cousin asleep on the bed. There was no window in this room; Merry must have chosen it years ago for it's proximity to Frodo's, rather than its view. Pippin's brow furrowed as he pushed the door open a little wider to let some light into the chamber, while with his other hand he plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and unconsciously wiped at his nose and the tears he hadn't known were trailing down his face. He couldn't see the gold of Merry's curls in the dim, but he could make out the slight frown the older hobbit wore in his sleep. Pippin felt his chest tighten, and swiftly drew back, closing the door behind him.

When he stepped into the kitchen, Sam was already there, getting ready to fix breakfast. He looked terrible, like he'd tried to sleep in a tree, and fallen out. Normally this might have inspired some light teasing from Pippin; Sam was so serious that the young hobbit enjoyed trying to provoke him to either laugh or retaliate, generally without much success at either venture. Today, however, he just didn't have the heart to make even friendly fun of the gardener. Anyway, he was hardly in a position to say anything about the other's appearance. He'd checked the mirror on the way out of his room, and knew he looked at least as bad.

"Good morning, Sam," he mumbled, though he knew it wasn't.

"Morning, Mr. Pippin." Sam sounded as unhappy as he looked. There was an uncomfortable silence after the perfunctory greetings, as they regarded each other warily over the kitchen table. Pippin broke first, not surprisingly. He was not good at keeping his thoughts to himself under the most favorable circumstances, let alone the tension he was experiencing now.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said, and Sam dropped his gaze in response.

"I know," he replied quietly. "And I'm... I'm sorry too, Mr. Pippin." He looked up again now, and Pippin could see both hurt and pity in his eyes. "How long - begging your pardon, Mr. Pippin, I hope you don't mind my asking - how long have you known you were in love with Mr. Merry?"

Pippin suddenly felt he couldn't breathe; he was gasping, but there seemed to be no air in the room. How long had he known? Had he known at all? He sank into a chair. "I don't know. I didn't know, I don't think, not until you just said..." After a few moments of reflection he added, "I think I always have been, but I didn't know what those feelings were. I just never wanted to be apart from him. He's my best friend, as long as I can remember, as long as I've been alive I think. I've always loved him... yes, I'm sure of that. But I never wanted what he has with Frodo; maybe I still don't," and he looked down, flushed. "Or maybe I do," he corrected almost inaudibly, and risked a quick glance from under his lashes at Sam, who was regarding him kindly. "And you, Sam?"

Sam looked like might almost smile then, but he didn't. "Right from the day Mr. Frodo moved into Bag End," he stated, and Pippin wasn't surprised. In fact he had been rather surprised to find that Frodo and Merry were, well, what he had always assumed Frodo and Sam were. Now he was curious how they had avoided any romantic entanglement.

"Does he know?"

"I've never told him, if that's what you mean, Mr. Pippin. I wish I could... I try to let him know, every way I can. I think he must see it... but he's never said anything about it at all. I suppose I'm lucky he don't throw me right out on my ear, I am. Not right to be setting my eyes on a fine gentlehobbit like he is, nohow." Sam was blushing quite noticeably now. "And you, you've never told Mr. Merry, either? No, no, I'd guess you haven't, seeing as how you just figured it out yourself."

"I think he might suspect something, though, Sam. He saw me... looking at him yesterday; we were swimming in the pond down below Bywater. Oh Sam! I couldn't take my eyes off him. I think he noticed, for he was behaving quite strangely the rest of the walk here. I don't know what I'm going to do now. I suppose if he felt the same he would have said something, instead of..." Pippin trailed off, as memory of the night before flooded back. The two hobbits stared at one another for a minute longer, one sitting at one end of the table, while the other stood at the opposite end.

"Well... I reckon I better get breakfast started, Mr. Pippin, it won't do to have the masters waiting on it when they wake up." Sam finally moved away towards the pantry, and Pippin followed.

They collected food in silence, Sam to cook breakfast, and Pippin so he'd have something to eat on the road. He'd decided to leave for Tookborough before the others woke, instead of staying however many days here as Merry wished to spend with their cousin. Standing next to Sam in the small room, selecting food from the shelves, an impulsive desire overcame him, both to find out what he was missing in his friendship with Merry, and to try to comfort the gardener, who had suffered a blow as hard as he had. With a step, he was next to the older hobbit, and with another half turn he had slipped between Sam and the shelves. Before he could lose what courage he had, he threw his arms around his friend, and kissed him inexpertly but tenderly on the lips. Sam's eyes widened, black instead of their usual warm brown in the gloom of the pantry. For several seconds he stood perfectly still, not responding but not moving away, then he placed his hands on Pippin's shoulders and pushed back into the doorframe, where he leaned, shaking slightly.

"Now then, Mr. Pippin, there's no cause to be doing that," he gasped out at last, his voice sounding strangled. Pippin slumped against the opposite shelf.

"I'm sorry Sam, I was just trying... I thought it might help you... us feel better." Pippin was in tears again.

"There now, Mr. Peregrin, I don't think less of you for it. Thank you... I thank you for trying, anyhow," Sam comforted the lad, and stepped forward again to enfold him in his arms. Pippin sobbed on his shoulder. He felt Sam shake a little under him, and couldn't tell if the gardener was laughing or crying as he added, "but that was some surprise, no mistake, Mr. Pippin." After a few minutes, Pippin was able to compose himself, and Sam softly told him, "Now I think it's time I got breakfast ready, Mr. Pippin, if you don't mind. I'd just as soon not be caught... holding you in the pantry, if you understand me, sir."

Now Pippin was able to laugh a little, and he separated himself from his cousin's servant. Sam retreated to the kitchen, while Pippin transferred some food from the pantry to his pack. He exchanged quiet goodbyes with the other hobbit on his way out of the hole, and embarked on the nearly daylong walk to his home. Unconsciously, he kept his pace slow; frequently stopping to nibble on the provisions he carried, or examine his surroundings: admiring a particularly large and beautiful insect here, or the way the sunlight fell through the trees to dapple the ground there. He didn't admit to himself that he was hoping a certain goldenhaired Brandybuck might catch up and join him on his journey.

* * *

Merry woke to the faint sounds of pots clanging and silverware clinking. He didn't get up right away as he was still very tired. He hadn't been able to sleep for many hours the night before, instead laying awake, wallowing in disgust with himself, revolted by the reality of his lust for the child who was his younger cousin. He felt that familiar ache in his gut again now, and figured he may as well get up and face the day; he certainly wasn't going to get any more rest this morning. Maybe, maybe he would even be able to talk to Pippin, find out his feelings, find out if he were truly still as young as Merry tended to think of him. Maybe Merry's own desires weren't so wrong as he'd been telling himself for years, as they certainly had been when he first realized them.

He soon discovered it would be some time before he'd be able to find out. He checked every room in Bag End, excluding Frodo's, and found no sign of his cousin, only Sam setting the table for breakfast, bringing out platters of warm food. The gardener gently explained that the young Took had left some time before, presumably heading for the hole he'd been born in, and his family.

"But why did he go? Why would he leave without me? We meant to spend a few more days here, at least." Merry was incredulous, and worried. There was a little hard knot of apprehension in his stomach - Pippin must have found out, somehow, discovered his secret, become aware of Merry's feelings, and fled as soon as he was able. He could not have received a clearer answer to his questions than this abrupt abandonment. He felt sick.

"I'm sure you know him better than me, Mr. Merry." Sam's tone was mild, but the look he shot at Merry was sharp. Merry rather suspected there was more to the simple gardener than he was wont to show, but now he wished the hobbit would speak more plainly. "If you hurry, I expect you could catch him up, ask him yourself, unless you'd rather stay here with Mr. Frodo." Merry looked up at this, but Sam's expression had become bland and unreadable.

"I don't think he'd want me to do that." Merry was miserable. He'd lost his best friend, and the hobbit he loved above any other, all at once. But that was no worse than he deserved.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Merry, and I hope you don't think I'm being too forward, sir, but I don't think he'd take it amiss if you went after him. In fact, I reckon he'd be right pleased to see you, if you take my meaning;" and looking at Sam now, suddenly Merry did take his meaning, took it very well, in fact.

"Oh, I've been a fool," he moaned, and rushed to the door, completely forgetting that he hadn't eaten, or taken his leave of Frodo, or even taken his own belongings. He was some miles out of Hobbiton, sweating and out of breath, before he found what he was looking for. He almost missed the little hobbit, prone in the shade of a large tree, quietly watching the road while munching a seed cake. He trotted past the spot at first, and only then did he feel eyes at his back, and slowed and turned, to meet Pippin's eyes. Merry held his breath, taking in the sight of his young cousin, his love - there, he finally admitted it, even to himself - then Pippin was up and running, flinging himself into Merry's arms.

"Oh Merry, you _did_ come, Merry, Merry, I thought you'd let me go," Pippin was gasping into his ear, as they both tumbled to the ground from the force of his impact. Merry was winded, and lay passively while Pippin embraced him and panted into the side of his neck. After a moment, Pippin drew back, and their eyes met again. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Merry!" he said at last, seeming to realize that he'd actually knocked his cousin over. He lifted himself off the older hobbit, then brushed at the dirt on Merry's clothes with his hands. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right, I'm all right." Merry grinned up at Pippin. And it seemed that maybe things really would be all right, and then Pippin leaned back down and kissed him. In his astonishment, Merry didn't respond, just stared round-eyed, afraid to breathe, afraid to move and end the moment; but then Pippin pulled away, scooted back a few feet and started to get up. He looked as though he were ready to bolt. Merry realized his error instantly. "Pippin! Pippin," he called, "please stay... please, I love you," he cried out in desperation, then froze in shock at his confession. But his fears were soon all but erased. The sudden look of joy that filled Pippin's face, his whole body in fact, melted Merry completely on the spot; yes, he'd finally done the right thing, and Pippin was at his side again, filling his arms again.

Pippin spoke into his cousin's neck, his voice muted but his breath sweet on Merry's skin. "Merry, oh, Merry, why didn't you tell me before? Why..." but he didn't finish the last thought. Merry had to consider his words carefully before responding, but he was finding it very difficult with the tickle of Pippin's hair on his nose and mouth distracting him.

"Do you remember why we stopped sharing a bed, Pippin?"

"I remember when." Pippin grimaced. "I wasn't quite sure of the why."

Merry stared aimlessly up into the tree, lost in memories. He had been making love to his sweet Pippin, drowning in bliss he had never known - but something was wrong. Some little irritation tugged at his mind, dragging him up through layers of sleep, until he found himself awake, and aroused, and thrusting gently... at Pippin's leg. Oh my Eru... And the boy was as rigid as a board, wide-eyed and staring at him in fear. In shock and horror Merry scrambled backwards, off the edge of the bed, and fell to the floor in an untidy jumble. As soon as he could untangle his legs he sprinted for the door, and ran, losing himself in vast hallways of Brandy Hall.

Eventually he'd collapsed in an out of the way sitting room, and fell into an uneasy sleep on the floor. This is where Pippin finally found him, late the next morning. He'd brought Merry's clothes, and turned his back while Merry dressed; then they went to the kitchen for a late breakfast. That night, Merry moved Pippin's things to an empty bedroom, and bid him goodnight in the hall. Soon after that, Merry had found some relief and comfort in the arms of his older cousin Frodo. Over time, the awkwardness and most of the shame Merry felt around the young hobbit gradually dissipated, although Pippin no longer spent his nights at Buckland in Merry's room, as he'd done since he was a toddler.

"I... I frightened you Pippin. I didn't want to do that again, I didn't want to hurt you."

"You didn't frighten me, Merry."

Merry stared at an interesting small flower on the ground. "You looked frightened."

"Oh Merry, it wasn't you! I mean... no, I wasn't ready for _that_ , but I never thought you'd ask, knew you knew I was too young then... I knew you were asleep. I was only afraid you'd wake up, and realize... and leave me, and... and that's what happened." Pippin was sniffling a little now, but he stroked Merry's face tenderly. Merry felt a pang of guilt at not having considered his cousin's feelings in the matter before making his decision those years ago.

"Oh love, I wish... I should have spoken to you first," he whispered, and caressed Pippin's back lightly.

"It's all right, Merry. I understand; I know you were only trying to protect me. But Merry," and now his face was earnest. "Merry, I'm ready now...." At this, Merry drew back.

"Oh, I don't know, Pippin," he squeaked out, sounding frightened even to himself. After denying himself for so long, his desire for this very sentiment from Pippin, he found it hard to accept; but Pippin took his face in his hands, forced him to look at him, into his clear light brown eyes.

"I am not a child anymore, Merry. You don't have to be afraid, I want this, I want you, oh Merry... I love you," and with that he kissed Merry again, quite thoroughly this time, and this time, Merry kissed him back.

"Pippin, what do you want... what should we do?" he asked when at last he could catch his breath.

"Oh, you know, you know what I want." Pippin's flushed face was buried in his neck, his voice muffled. "I want... to lay with you, Merry," and he looked up, blushing furiously, but meeting Merry's gaze unwaveringly.

Merry was flustered and confused; that hadn't been the answer he was expecting. "Here? You mean right now? On the side of the road?" He laughed nervously, shocked and yet somehow finding the idea not altogether unappealing; the demand felt almost reasonable coming from the pixie by his side.

"No, no... we can go behind the trees there... no-one will see us, Merry, please, haven't you made me wait long enough? Haven't you waited long enough?" Merry couldn't argue with that; he had been waiting literally for years. He must have been bemused by the sudden onslaught of emotions he was experiencing, because he was finding himself surprisingly easily persuaded. "Oh, Merry! I only want to please you," Pippin murmured, stroking Merry's face reverently; this plea was more than Merry could withstand, and he surrendered.

"So... what do you want to do first then?" Merry teased his cousin; as he adjusted to the concept of being in love, and loved in return, his mood was changing quickly. He felt unaccountably buoyant, hardly tied to the earth at all, and Pippin squirmed gratifyingly against him.

"I want you to do... whatever it is you did last night that Frodo liked so much," Pippin breathed into his ear, then drew back to grin impishly at Merry's expression. Merry blinked, and felt his face redden as he realized just why Pippin had left so abruptly without him that morning.

"Well," he got out, when he managed to find his voice at last, although it was still faintly colored with embarrassment and surprised indignation, "I think... I think we'll have to... work up to that."

"Oh. Well, then, _I_ think that the sooner we start, the sooner we'll get there," was the response, and though his words sounded bold Pippin was smiling shyly, as though he finally understood what he was asking.

Laughing, Merry told him, "Well, then we must begin your education immediately," and kissed Pippin again before scrambling to his feet. Then he picked Pippin up, and carried him into the woods. It was very, very late that day when they finally returned to Bag End.

* * *

By the light coming in through the window, it was already late morning when Frodo was awakened by a gentle tapping at the door. "Mr. Frodo, are you awake? I've brought you a tray, Mr. Frodo." Sam's voice was muffled by the door.

"Yes, yes, I'm all right, Sam, please come in." Frodo yawned and stretched, sitting up as Sam entered the room. "Here, I'll take that," he said, reaching for the tray, then placing it on the bed next to him. "Goodness, Sam, it's late! Why didn't you wake me before? I'm sure I've missed a meal or two already."

"I thought you might be tired, Mr. Frodo;" but Sam didn't look up as he said it. Frodo thought he looked very tired himself. "I'll just be getting back to the garden now." The younger hobbit turned to go, but Frodo, surprised that Pippin and Merry hadn't made enough racket to wake him up, forestalled him with a question.

"Are Merry and Pippin still abed then? I can hardly believe they would go so long without eating!" Frodo started in on his own breakfast now, thinking how sweet it was of Sam to have brought it in to him. Thinking of Sam reminded him of the conversation he'd had with Merry the night before, and he frowned faintly at his eggs.

"Ah, no, sir, they are both... er, gone, you might say. Left early this morning in fact."

"Gone! Oh..." Frodo didn't know what to say to that. Even if he wouldn't have Merry's companionship at night any longer, he would like to have enjoyed the company of the two young hobbits for a few days longer before they continued on to the Tookland. "When did they leave?"

"Merry's gone two hours since, and Mr. Pippin left at least an hour before that." Sam was shuffling his feet; he looked anxious to get outside to his quiet garden.

"They didn't leave together then?" Now Frodo's morning meal was forgotten in his surprise.

"No, no, Mr. Pippin thought he'd get an early start, I guess. Packed his food and his things, and left for Tookborough. Mr. Merry was up later, but went after him straight away. Didn't even remember to bring his pack, he was in that much of a hurry."

"Oh." Frodo's mouth felt dry. Merry really had left him then, for good it looked like. Left him alone with Sam. But maybe... maybe that wasn't all bad. Perhaps Merry was right, and Frodo was being a foolish old hobbit, causing more harm than good by refusing what was, after all, willingly given, even if he feared it would all too soon be withdrawn again.

He looked up at Sam, who was already leaving, evidently eager to get to his gardening. Frodo let him go. There would be time enough later to... well, he wasn't sure what. Sound out his feelings, maybe. He finished his breakfast alone, listening to the sound of Sam washing pots and tidying the kitchen, then the front door closing. Somewhat later he could hear the steady snicking of garden shears as Sam resumed his normal chores. He lay in bed for a long time, just listening, and thinking he might like to get up and look out the window, and watch Sam working, and also thinking that it would be a very bad idea to do so.

Eventually he roused himself with a sigh and tumbled out of bed. Doing nothing wasn't really helping his situation or his mood, though he did not feel much like translating or reading or doing anything academic at all; not that he was really useful for anything else. He sighed again, and dressed himself, and left the room to wander the house aimlessly.

Frodo was still pacing restlessly when Sam came back inside at nearly noon and wordlessly started preparing lunch. The unaccustomed quiet from the usually cheerful gardener troubled Frodo.

"Let me help you, Sam," he said at last, unable to remain idle in the silence any longer. He had walked up in back of the younger hobbit at the counter, and lightly placed a hand on his arm. He meant to ask with his touch why Sam was not speaking, but he knew. He mentally cursed himself, for allowing Merry to come to him while Sam was still there. He wanted to apologize for the hurt he knew he'd caused, but could not without acknowledging Sam's feelings, without revealing his own; and still he was not sure he could do that.

At the slight pressure on his arm, Sam turned. "You don't need to put yourself out, Mr. Frodo," he said. "I've got everything in order, now, why don't you just settle there and let me get you your tea, or beer if you'd prefer that."

"Please, Sam, I've never felt more useless than I do today. Give me something to do?" Frodo knew he was not the best of cooks, especially not when his skills were compared to Sam's, but he figured he could do well enough with sufficient direction. Sam regarded him uncertainly, then gestured at the vegetables on the counter next to where he'd been chopping herbs.

"Those carrots need chopping, the taters too. We'll be eating a lot sooner, if you'd help me with those," he said, and turned back around as Frodo took his place next to him. They worked in silence still, but it felt more companionable than before to Frodo, and Sam occasionally offered instructions in a shy voice, as if he had no right, and Frodo supposed he probably thought he didn't. He peeked at his companion from the corner of his eye, admiring his deft fingers as they worked and his attention to detail, taking comfort in his solidity. Sam seemed to be carefully avoiding looking back.

Every now and then their hands or arms would inadvertently brush each other, and they'd self-consciously move a step away from each other, but within a few minutes they would have unconsciously moved back and be touching again.

When at last they were seated at the table, Frodo studied Sam circumspectly. He was tucking right into his food, just as a hobbit ought, unlike Frodo, who was so distracted by his gardener that he was neglecting his plate.

Frodo was torn between desire, and fear of gaining what would be most precious to him only to lose it. The loneliness of his recent abandonment was tipping him towards recklessness; he felt some small but very important part inside him would explode, never to be repaired, if he didn't speak of his love; pour out the protracted years of longing in a great flood. He wondered if Sam would be washed away by such a flood; if he would founder in the waves or ride them.

As their plates were emptied, they exchanged more and more frequent uneasy glances. Finally, Frodo could stand the silence no longer, and asked, "Dear Sam, what is the matter? I have never known you to be so quiet in all the time since we met."

Sam was slowly pushing the remains of his potatoes around his plate. "I don't rightly know what to say, Mr. Frodo." He looked up, and Frodo for the first time that day recognized the pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry about Mr. Merry sir, leaving you like that, as much as I think it was for the best, for him and Mr. Pippin..." Now he stared into his plate again, "...but that don't make it any better for you."

"Oh, Sam, Sam... That's all right, but thank you." Frodo leaned back in his chair, and sipped his tea thoughtfully. This was interesting. "I didn't know... I didn't think you knew about Merry... Merry and me."

"I didn't, not really. Well, I did, but I didn't pay it no mind, no more than I could help... thought I might be wrong, Mr. Frodo, hoped I was anyway." Sam hunched into himself, as though he felt suddenly exposed, as he was, and Frodo felt a twinge in his chest. "Until last night... and then his running off this morning. I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo, that's hard on you, it is." Sam looked especially miserable now, and Frodo was shocked to realize that it was on his own behalf and not Sam's. The scales were tipping precariously in favor of this hobbit who would ignore his own pain to sooth Frodo's.

"Sam, Sam, I'm the one who is sorry. Sam..." Frodo didn't know what to say next. Had he been hurting his servant all these years, by keeping that last little bit of distance between them? How would he ever be able to make up for that? He really didn't deserve Sam, but undeniably, the young hobbit did deserve everything Frodo had to offer. Yes, even if Frodo thought he would not want it forever. So... nothing for it, but to offer. Still unsure what to say, he stood up, and leaned forward over the table, reaching for Sam. Delicately he grasped Sam's chin, and gently tilted it up, to look into his face.

Sam couldn't avoid meeting his eyes, and the aching Frodo saw there was a beacon: Come to me, it said; so he tugged gently, and Sam yielded, until he was half-standing. Then Frodo pulled him forward, with his fingers under his chin and his thumb tenderly chafing Sam's lips, until they were face to face, only inches apart.

"I've put this off for far too long," he said, before he closed the gap and rested his mouth lightly on Sam's, and discovered it tasted like honey. Sam made a squeaking noise in his throat that could not escape from lips that were covered by Frodo's, and Frodo opened his eyes to find Sam's as dark and wide as a frightened deer's. The gardener fell back so hastily that he dragged a few dishes off the table to the floor with him; but Frodo didn't hear them break over the blood roaring in his ears.

What had gone wrong? He was so certain Sam loved him (although he was at a loss as to why); confident he'd been waiting for this for years. He'd seen it, and done his best not to notice, almost since he came to live at Bag End. He could hardly believe he'd lose his Sam this quickly, as soon as he'd claimed him at last; his worst fear come true in the very moment he risked facing it.

Sam was still sitting stunned on the floor, and Frodo went around the table to help him up. As he stretched his hand out to his friend he apologized, "Sam, dear, I'm sorry, I thought... you wanted this." There was a throbbing hole in his heart. It would have been better never to have started this.

"I'm sorry Mr. Frodo, I was just... you startled me there, a bit." Sam straightened his clothes, and looked at Frodo with something like defeat in his eyes, then stepped forward resolutely and placed his hands on Frodo's shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. His mouth was sweet and giving, but Frodo broke away.

"No. No," Frodo said. "Not until you tell me why you pulled away before. You weren't so quick about it that I believe you were just surprised." Sam examined the floor carefully. He looked like he thought it could use a good scrubbing, right at that minute. "Come on, Sam. You changed your mind twice about wanting to kiss me in as many minutes. I want to know why."

"Ah, well now, Mr. Frodo," Sam began: just for something to say to delay making any confessions, Frodo suspected. But Sam was in fact made of sterner stuff than he appeared at first glance, as his employer well knew. He soon continued, "I do want to kiss you, Mr. Frodo, no denying it. But for a minute... for a minute there, I thought not to, I was that selfish, as to think I didn't want to, if it were just... just... if you only wanted to, on account of Mr. Merry leaving." Sam cringed in apparent shame as he said it. "But I was wrong Mr. Frodo, wrong to think it, wronger to act on it. And I'd be happy to comfort you now Master," he looked up in miserable earnestness, "to kiss you, if you like, even... even if it's only for today, to ease the sting of your loss. But Mr. Frodo," and he stopped for a moment to pull out a rough-woven but delicately embroidered handkerchief and wipe at his wet cheeks. "Mr. Frodo, it would be right hard to stop, to give you up after you've recovered, if you understand me, sir."

Frodo's heart skipped a beat; it felt swollen in his chest, in danger of breaking at the ache in Sam's voice. He drew Sam into his arms, and cradled him there as he whispered "Sam, oh Sam, the only thing that ever kept me from you was fear of losing you; I should never be able to give you up once I'd held you, and Sam, it's too late now." Now he dropped tiny kisses into Sam's hair along with a few tears. "I don't know how I could ever deserve you, or how you could still want me after I foolishly refused you for so long, but I'm yours now, as much of me as there is. I know that's little enough, but it's yours as long as you want it, want me."

He felt Sam's arms slide around him, strong hands pressing into his back, and Sam looked up with a gasp. "Mr. Frodo! You're all teary now," and suddenly their roles were reversed. Sam stood up straight, and held Frodo tightly with one arm, while his other hand reached back around to brush the salty trails from Frodo's face before he rained soft kisses there, and words in a voice as sweet as his kisses were pouring from his mouth: "There now, me dear, your Sam's here, let me comfort you, Master, let your Sam take care of you."

Frodo uttered a broken laugh through his tears, "You always do, Sam, you always do." He felt a smile breaking through the chill he'd allowed himself to be enveloped in for many years, and thought he'd share it with Sam, so he turned his head enough for their lips to meet. They stood together in the kitchen for a long time, unwilling to let each other go, until Frodo was overtaken with a need to cement their relationship on it's new terms. "Let's go to bed, Sam," he said, disentangling himself from the gardener.

Sam's eyes opened in wonder, but he nervously surveyed the untidy kitchen and the plates on the table, and began, "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but it's only midday and I have..." The tide of words was stemmed by a mock-stern look from Frodo.

"Enough of that, Sam," he said gently. "I will help you with that later; the mess can wait, but I can't, not any longer." With that, he took his companion's arm and led the bemused Sam down the hall; and it was just as well that Merry and Pippin did not return until nearly suppertime.


End file.
